


Not My Kind of Party

by Miri1984



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: F/M, Flirting, Trope Fic, UST, implied bisexual kanan, kanan gets dressed up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 05:11:16
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,780
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4250613
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Miri1984/pseuds/Miri1984
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A few weeks after the events of A New Dawn, Hera has a job for Kanan that requires him to go undercover at a fancy party. Of course, that means he needs new clothes, and naturally, things do not go as smoothly as planned. Companion fic to art by Yamisnuffles on tumblr.<br/>( http://yamisnuffles.tumblr.com/post/122968477941/this-is-my-first-ever-contribution-to-the-star )</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not My Kind of Party

“You know, I still think you made up this job just to get me into a nice suit,” Kanan said, adjusting his collar for the fiftieth time since he’d arrived. The Botanical Gardens in the Fobosi District of Coruscant were as beautiful as ever, and packed as they were with wealthy nobles and traders they looked a little like they’d been invaded by a flock of lofquarian gooney birds. A simple, undercover contact job, Hera had told him. One hour in and out, no questions, no problems.

Hera’s voice, over comm, was amused. “I would lie and say that wasn’t a factor in volunteering,” she said. “But can’t Jedi tell when someone is lying?”

“Sure, when the lies are that blatant.”

Dignitaries and trade partners swapped boring stories over expensive alcohol and delicately prepared food that had little to no nutritional value. It was humid and close, and Kanan would have given a large amount of credits to be propped up at the bar of a cheap cantina, drinking ebla beer and playing sabacc, rather than trying to look like he was at home in a suit that probably cost more than an entire month’s wages back on Gorse. He could at least take comfort in the fact that his outfit was a little less stifling than most of the other outfits in the room -- the rich merchants and traders of Coruscant hadn’t quite managed to dress for the steamy, moist air of a greenhouse.

While it was a lovely setting for a party from an objective viewpoint, most of the guests looked flushed and uncomfortable in their finery. Kanan, on the other hand, had a lot more skin exposed, and aside from the too tight collar, was probably the most comfortable person present.

“I still think it would have been better if you’d been on the guest list.”

“Aron Yurmachi is human,” Hera said. “It’s a bit hard to tuck lekku into a wig, you know. Also he’s a lot taller than me.”

“You would have looked great in a dress,” Kanan said. “I had one all set out in my head -- purple and gold, slinky… backless. Definitely backless…” He had a sudden vision -- not at all to do with the force (unless he’d been using the force wrong all these years) -- of Hera lightly misted with dew in a backless gown. He swallowed, reminding himself to breathe.

“You’re doing a job Kanan, and Chopper can hear everything you’re saying.”

“What are we protecting the delicate sensibilities of a droid now?” Chopper squawked in the background.

“He says any sensibilities he might have had died when you joined the crew,” Hera said.

“That’s not what he said.”

***

So far since leaving Gorse and Cynda behind and bidding farewell to Zaluna, they’d raided an Imperial Outpost for fuel and food on Ord Mantell, sabotaged a thorilide refinery out near Rishi, picked up a questionable cargo from Lothal and delivered it to a dead drop in a system that Kanan hadn’t even heard of. It’d had been busy, occasionally terrifying, and mostly a lot of fun.

With just the two of them on board (not including the ornery droid) there should have been a lot more opportunity to talk, but after Hera’s little discussion about the possibility of more Jedi having survived order 66, Kanan hadn’t pushed it, and she hadn’t ever really sought him out. They’d eaten meals together, he’d made her kaf and helped her with minor repairs, but mostly they existed in comfortable silence.

“So we’ve got a different job,” she said to him, over dinner one night. He raised an eyebrow at her and continued chewing. “It’s on Coruscant.”

He chewed harder. “Uh huh.”

“And it involves going undercover at an official function for the Imperial Trade Federation,” she continued. He blinked. Then started to smile.

“Undercover?”

“You’ll need something else to wear. So we’re stopping at the tailors in Lothal to get you fitted.”

“Fitted?” Kanan said, then looked down at his shirt. He only had two of them, and for the first time he wondered if maybe he should look into getting a few more. “Are you trying to tell me you don’t like the way I dress?”

She chuckled a little at that. “Not at all,” she said. “Although there’s room in the budget for you to… uh… expand your wardrobe a little, if you want, while we’re there.”

“Well that’s very kind of you,” he said. Not entirely sure if Hera was teasing, he reached out through the force, trying to read her emotions, and found to his surprise, she was nervous.

“I know this isn’t like our normal jobs,” she said, “but we’ve got a very short window and it’s important that…”

“Relax, Hera,” he said, spearing another salad leaf on his fork. “I’m fine with this. It definitely wouldn’t be the first time I’ve pretended to be someone I’m not.” A thought occurred to him. “A party, eh? What are you going to wear?” He couldn’t imagine she was the type to have a wardrobe stuffed full of formal attire somewhere on the ship. Or, to be honest, he  _could_  imagine, but  _shouldn’t_.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m staying here,” she said.

“What… you’re going to dress me up and send me into a nest of hungry rich folk  _alone?”_

“I’m sure you’ll manage,” she said, pushing her plate to the side and standing. It was his turn to wash up, and he watched her leave, still chewing thoughtfully.

It was only later that he realised that was the second time in as many months he’d consciously reached out through the force in her presence. The first time it had been to save her life. This time it had felt natural and easy -- the way it used to feel before Kellar. He’d been meditating -- there were precious other ways to pass the long hours they spent in hyperspace -- but he seemed to remember it being a lot more difficult to use the force that naturally -- back when he’d been an apprentice.

He wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or just dangerous.

***

“I’m not seeing our contact anywhere Hera,” Kanan snagged a glass of something bubbly from a passing tray and took a sip, and then another when he realised how expensive it probably was. He really shouldn’t indulge while he was working, but one glass wouldn’t take the edge of his senses, and he  _was_  supposed to be blending in. The drinks were nice, just like the canapes had been nice. And the senators and merchants had men and women on their arms who were the kind of beautiful that only came from lavish amounts of money.

A year ago Kanan would have left this party either exceptionally intoxicated or a good deal richer (probably both), and most likely, not alone.

Of course, a year ago whoever made the guest list would have cut of their own arm rather than put him on it.

“Relax, Kanan,” Hera said. “She’ll be along soon.”

Kanan tapped his foot. “You know if you joined me this wouldn’t be nearly so boring.”

“If I joined you you’d be inundated with offers to buy me,” she said, and her voice was surprisingly bitter. Or perhaps not so surprisingly. There were a few Twi’lek women circulating but ninety percent of them were scantily clad and obviously there for “entertainment” while the others were serving drinks. “Forgive me if I choose to sit this one out.”

“Fair point,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

“As it is you’re attracting just the right amount of attention. Our contact was warned not to approach you immediately, or it would look suspicious and you’re blending in very nicely.”

“I’m so glad Chopper could hack into the surveillance feed, so you would have something to watch in your down time,” he said, smoothing his tunic down over his chest and flicking imaginary dust off his too-tight pants.

“Blue suits you,” she said, and he could hear the grin in her voice.

“Yes, I know,” he sighed dramatically. “It’s a curse.”

***

“I seem to remember that when I agreed to come on board your ship it was as crew,” Kanan said. “Not as  _decoration.”_  He was standing in nothing but undershorts, on a block in a Lothal tailor’s shop. Bolts of cloth lay scattered around them, the tailor having gone through Hera’s notes thoroughly before they arrived. There were blues and golds, shimmersilk and savaasilk, along with an alarming number of tassels. A datapad on which Hera had uploaded all of Yurmachi’s outfits from previous parties was lying amidst all the materials, and Kanan kept glancing at it nervously. Hera had been careful not to let him see the final design. She had a feeling he wouldn’t be a fan.

“This… surely this isn’t necessary?” he said, somewhat plaintively, as Hera crossed her arms and smirked up at him. She wasn’t immune to a nice looking humanoid, and even on Gorse she’d found Kanan attractive in an “a natural disaster that will ruin your life” kind of way. He was certainly in better shape than his habits on Gorse would have initially suggested -- broad shoulders, a flat stomach, chest with that light growth of hair she’d always found a little fascinating on humans coupled with long, shapely legs. She figured he probably kept it up running away from awkward situations and getting into bar fights. Or running away from bar fights and getting into awkward situations. A healthy combination of the two, at least.

For her part, years of various undercover jobs, dealing with the pervasive attitude most humanoid and near-human species had towards Twi’leks meant that she had perfected a facade of indifference towards those who found her enticing, and Kanan’s flirting seemed almost as natural to him as breathing -- something that he couldn’t help. On the ship, these past few weeks, she’d been able to ignore it or be amused by it in equal measures. Seeing him here, though, nearly naked and slightly embarrassed, but unable to stop himself from occasionally flexing the muscles across his back as the tailor turned him this way and that, and she wondered if she wouldn’t like him to flirt a little more seriously.

“Yurmachi is obsessive about this,” Hera said. “If your suit doesn’t fit perfectly people will be suspicious.”

“I’m a totally different person,” he said. “People will know it’s not him as soon as I walk in the door.”

She shook his head. Kanan didn’t know that Aron Yurmachi actually didn’t exist. A construct of her contacts -- a minor noble who could gain entrance to functions like these by virtue of his wealth. His holdings and correspondence were handled by a junior officer somewhere on Alderaan, and he went everywhere wearing an elaborate mask. As such, so long as the rebellion had a handy human male of a reasonable height range, he could be anywhere in the Galaxy, whenever he was needed.

Fulcrum hadn’t wanted to throw Kanan into this role so quickly, but Hera was mostly confident it was a role Kanan could manage. He could at least look the part for the simple pickup they had arranged. If complications arose? Well Hera was never the sort to only have one plan.

“He’s not very well known,” she said, “which means you won’t have to act particularly well to fit in. Any way, you’re only going to be there for an hour, at the most. If you can stop yourself from getting drunk or talking to anyone you’ll be fine.”

He grunted. “So no fun is to be had at all then.”

“This is a job, Kanan.”

He sighed, then jumped as the tailor stuck him with a pin. She smiled, taking a moment to admire the spread of freckles across his shoulders, before remembering that she had a job to do as well, and going back to sorting through cloth.

The outfit would take much of the day to finish, so after the fitting Hera led Kanan through the streets of Captial City until she found a place she’d been to fairly regularly -- a small bar near the old senate building that served a half decent fodu and an even better collypod broth. Kanan ordered one beer, but he sipped it slowly, and seemed to spend a lot more time looking at her than at his meal. “So tell me the truth,” he said. “You didn’t really need to be there for the fitting to consult, did you?”

She pursed her lips. “You probably would have ordered him to make you a suit of armour if I’d left you alone with him.”

“But you were the one paying,” he pointed out.

“I wanted to keep an eye on you,” she said, not able to stop the twitch of her lip.

He grinned and leaned forward. “Now we get to the heart of the matter.”

“You’ve got your elbow in your fodu,” she pointed out. He looked down, then back up again, his expression so comically hurt that she couldn’t stop the laugh that bubbled out. “Oooh, I never thought I’d be able to trick a Jedi.”

His face went blank and she knew at once she’d made a mistake. Stupid of her, considering her own promises not to provoke him, or ask him unwanted questions. She couldn’t expect him to accept her silence on their true mission if she constantly tried to break his silence on his past.

“I’m sorry,” she said. He shook his head.

“No. It’s all right,” he said, looking down and shoving food around on his plate. “Just a healthy continuing dose of paranoia. It’s a hard habit to break.”

“You shouldn’t be breaking it,” she said, earnestly now. “I took a cheap shot. I shouldn’t forget how much danger you’d be in if…”

He shook his head. “People make jokes about Jedi all the time,” he said, voice slightly strained. “It’s no big deal. Doesn’t make me stand out any more than anyone else.”

A sudden surge of protective anger caught Hera by surprise. She certainly shouldn’t be this concerned over his feelings, not after everything her own people had suffered over the years. The fate of the Jedi, by comparison, could almost seem trivial. What was the casual murder of a mere ten thousand, when her people had been bought and sold by the millions, for centuries? For Kanan, though, she supposed as she watched him eat, if he truly was what she thought he was, what had happened was something personal, and violent.

And final.

“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you some things,” she said, putting down her fork and resting her chin on her hand.

He raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

“This mission… it’s on Coruscant.” He gave her a little shrug and an interrogative eyebrow. “Is that going to be a problem for you?”

“Why would it be?”

“I… you were…” If he really was a Jedi and not just a force sensitive who’d gotten lucky and self-taught himself, then he would have been trained on Coruscant, in the Jedi temple there. He might even have been there when Order 66 was executed.

Coruscant could well have been the last place he’d ever want to return to -- home of the worst memories of his life.

His blank expression didn’t change, and his eyes slid away, but when he spoke, his voice was light and even. “Look, Hera, I appreciate that you’re looking out for me, and I know we haven’t been partners for that long, but I can handle this job, no matter where it is. Coruscant isn’t any different to Corellia or Ord Mantell or any of the other places we’ve been. Save maybe a little bigger.” Then his voice cracked a little. “I’m hardly likely to run into any of my old classmates wandering through the markets.”

“You did train there then,” she said softly.

His expression changed, from blank to impressed, and he leaned back. “Well now, aren’t you the crafty one,” he said, “getting information out of me without me noticing.”

She flushed and looked down. “I didn’t intend to probe.”

He shook his head. “It’s all right,” he said, then his voice lowered and he leaned forward again. “There are worse people to be probed by.”

“Aaand now you’ve made it filthy.”

He grinned, then winked. “Best that way, don’t you think?” then he nodded at her plate. “Finish up your broth, I think it’s time for my debut in blue.”

***

A whispered hiss near his elbow nearly made him drop his glass. He looked down to see a small Bith woman, moving back into a nook surrounded by Jung-ju trees. It was a small, private place -- somewhere Kanan had no doubt would be utilised later for trysts between high ranking officials and people other than their spouses. The Bith woman beckoned urgently, trying to get him to go with her.

“You said the contact was a Nautolan, right Hera?” he said softly.

“That’s right.”

“So why is there a Bith lady trying to drag me into a lover’s nook?”

“Your charm?”

The woman’s gestures became more urgent, and Kanan swore under his breath.

“Something’s going on here,” he said.

“Kanan…”

“Don’t worry, I’m on it.”

The nook was close and humid, with a small bench that would no doubt end up being too uncomfortable for whatever people had planned for it later. Kanan put his hands on his hips and tilted his head at the Bith woman, who was dressed as a servant -- dark, unobtrusive clothing, and wouldn’t attract attention in here even if someone happened to glance in as they passed. Kanan, on the other hand, was a bobber bird in a sand dune. He slid behind her so that the first person anyone walking by would see would be the woman, and cursed the shininess of his shimmersilk cape.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

She didn’t speak, just pressed a small datapad into his hand and backed out again before he could ask her any more questions. He wasn’t great at reading Bith expressions, but even without reaching out through the force he’d been able to feel her fear -- a swirl of darkness that sent a shiver of cold over his too-exposed skin.

He waited a few seconds, then slipped back out of the nook, making sure no one was looking towards him as he made his way back over to the drinks table. An Ortulan server offered him a plate of something that he took, using it to cover his other hand while he examined the datapad.

Information scrolled rapidly across the screen and he felt the bottom drop out of his stomach. The small amounts of alcohol he’d allowed himself churned and rose like bile in the back of his throat as he realised what they were going to have to do.

“Hera,” he said, “we’ve got a problem.”

***

“I’m not wearing it,” he said. Hera covered her mouth with one hand, standing next to him in the dressing room. She’d spent a good deal of the morning standing in a room with Kanan when he was close to naked, but somehow wearing this suit he looked (and obviously felt) far more exposed than he had in his undershorts. The suit was tight fitting, with several strategic gaps in the tunic that showed swathes of brown, freckled skin, never quite enough to be scandalous, but certainly enough to make sure very little of Kanan was left to the imagination.

Blue shimmersilk flowed out behind him in a cape, the skin tight pants, in deep blue, lead into slightly lightly heeled boots. The cape was attached to his shoulders with gold thread and belted tight around his waist, flowing out to reach the top of his knees. The entire ensemble was finished with a mask festooned with the colourful crest feathers of an orobird.

He pushed the mask up onto his head and glared at her. “I feel ridiculous.”

“You look lovely,” Hera said. “And wearing this even without the mask no one will be looking at your face.”

“Oh?” he said, doing a small spin. “What will they be looking at?”

She shook her head and turned him back around, checking in the mirror to be certain that the fit was satisfactory. Her hands rested lightly on his arms, her lekku brushing his shoulder. He pursed his lips, looking down at her.

“It’s good,” she said to the tailor, who nodded, then she turned back to Kanan. “Now take it off.”

He grinned. “Yes Captain.”

On the way back to the ship, Hera related the rest of the plan.

***

Considering Yurmachi was only supposed to be at the party for an hour getting out again wasn’t going to be a problem, but there was little to no chance that Kanan would be able to make it to their next destination without attracting a lot more attention than he needed to given his current outfit. There were hardly any places in the suit to carry spare clothing, and so Kanan was forced to improvise.

Luring the waiter into the nook where the Bith had given him the datapad was surprisingly easy. Kanan figured he must have looked better than even he’d anticipated in Hera’s suit.

“What exactly are you doing Kanan?” Hera’s voice hissed in his ear, while the waiter was busy kissing Kanan’s collarbone, with a great deal of skill, Kanan couldn’t help but notice.

“What I do best, Hera,” he said back, deftly knocking the waiter unconscious with a sharp jab to the neck and easing him to the ground. It was quick work to strip the man and switch their clothes -- then he set the waiter on the bench and gently passed his hand across the man’s eyes, a slight push from the force gifting him pleasant dreams and hopefully less of a headache than he would have had otherwise.

Straightening the dark service uniform, which was more comfortable and less tight fitting than the suit had been, he slipped out of the gardens.

“Kanan you need to tell me what’s going on. What was on the datapad?”

“Our contact was compromised,” Kanan said. “She managed to get a message to the Bith in the palace, but she’s been captured and is being held…” he swallowed. “Being held somewhere else.”

“Where?”

Coruscant’s sun filtered down through a haze of clouds, and it felt familiar and warm on his back. He took a deep, shuddering breath, shutting his eyes and remembering far better than he had any right to, which direction he needed to go.  
  


“The Jedi temple,” he said.


End file.
